


When the White Wolf Hungers

by round_robin



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Bard's Song, Bards, Biting, First Time, Geralt likes baths, Love Bites, M/M, Rough Sex, Sharing a Bed, Size Kink, Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Vignette, constantly broke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:01:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22316728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/round_robin/pseuds/round_robin
Summary: The Witcher peered over his shoulder at his traveling companion. “We have enough coin for two beds and a meal, or one bed, a bath and you sing for your supper.”Jaskier's eyes passed over Geralt and his nose wrinkled before he knew to stop himself. Geralt slayed a beast three days ago and after walking behind him—entrails and blood caked into his clothes—for two days, even he could hardly tolerate the smell any longer.He resigned himself to a night on the floor and nodded. “We'll make do.”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 56
Kudos: 1905





	When the White Wolf Hungers

**Author's Note:**

> I had half an idea for three fics, but couldn't really make them all work on their own... vignettes it is! One of those ideas was "they're constantly broke and have to share beds a lot," pretty standard stuff, but still fun. This is my first Witcher fic and I've only seen the show. I did make use of the wiki for place names and such, but if I got anything wrong, feel free to leave a comment and I'll put it right.
> 
> Also, pardon my slightly purple prose. this is kind of Jaskier's POV, but I just can't describe Geralt's cock as anything other than massive. (Size kink if you squint.)
> 
> Enjoy.

1.

Geralt slammed to a stop outside the inn doors, almost knocking Jaskier to the ground. Any protest Jaskier had died on his tongue when the Witcher peered over his shoulder and cast his menacing gaze on his traveling companion.

“We have enough coin for two beds and a meal, or one bed, a bath and you sing for your supper.”

Jaskier's eyes passed over Geralt and his nose wrinkled before he knew to stop himself. Geralt slayed a beast three days ago (a random beast that set upon them, not one menacing a village that would pay to get rid of it) and after walking behind him—entrails and blood caked into his clothes—for two days, even he could hardly tolerate the smell any longer.

He resigned himself to a night on the floor and nodded. “We'll make do.”

Geralt grunted his reply and headed towards the inn, stopping to make arrangements for Roach with the stable master. “At least I'm not the only one sleeping on the floor,” he mumbled to himself and followed Geralt inside.

While Geralt spoke with the innkeeper, Jaskier found a good spot to set up. Maybe he'd earn enough for a pitcher of wine to himself and he'd be too sleepy to care he was on the hard, dirty floor...

Even though he was desperate for a bath, Geralt stayed in the pub as Jaskier began his song. They always earned more when there was an actual Witcher to toss a coin to. When he had a good clip going, a fair few patrons tapping their toes along with the song, their sleepy, drunk eyes glancing towards their purses, Geralt slipped away up the stairs to clean up.

A few hours later, his belly and purse both full, Jaskier retired to their room. His buoyant mood deflated a bit when he found Geralt asleep, stretched across the bed... the only bed. He wasn't drunk, but the happy songs and chatter made him forget.

Jaskier sighed to himself. “Oh well.” He cast his eyes around the room for any soft item for a pillow (there was only one of those, as well).

“You should sleep,” Geralt's rough voice rumbled. His eyes were closed but Witchers probably had more senses than most, Geralt didn't really need to _see_ his prey to kill it.

“I'm trying,” Jaskier snapped back, the long night and longer walk suddenly getting to him. “If you weren't hogging the only pillow—”

“Oh, shut up.” Geralt sat up in bed and beckoned Jaskier. “Get undressed and lay down. It won't kill you to share with me for one night.”

Jaskier's talented tongue was silent for a moment. “You—I thought, you—why would you share?”

Geralt rolled his eyes and laid down again. “Hurry up. I want to put the light out.”

With that as the final word, Jaskier scrambled to take off his boots and tunic, stripping down to his underclothes before he gave half a thought to this... arrangement. Geralt himself was stripped to the waist—nothing Jaskier hadn't seen before—but the idea of being pressed onto a bed next to that body made him shiver.

“I don't think I'll fit,” he gave as a last protest, then sat down on the thin sliver of bed not filled with Geralt's overly broad torso.

As he tried to lay down in the minuscule space, Geralt sighed again and a large arm swooped around him, pinning Jaskier to his chest. “Don't pretend you haven't shared a bed before.”

“Not like this.” Not pressed against the glistening chest of a man who could kill him with the smallest of efforts.

Geralt ignored Jaskier and closed his eyes. “Put out the light and go to sleep.”

Restrained as he was, Jaskier managed to reach the bedside candle and snuff it out. With the room in darkness, he was suddenly more aware of the hulking man under him. Blood sang in his ears and cold sweat began to bead over his whole body. He shouldn't have complained about the floor, at least the floor was safe, and devoid of awkwardness. There was no way Jaskier would get a wink of sleep tonight.

Yet, Geralt had Jaskier's ear pressed to his chest, close enough to hear the Witcher's slow... steady... heart... beat. The solid, steady sound soon calmed Jaskier's anxiousness and lulled him to sleep, the deepest sleep he'd had in a very long time.

2.

Of course, the dangers of sharing a bed always revealed themselves the next morning when the largest cock Jaskier had ever felt nudged him awake.

At first, he didn't quite know what it was. He was still half asleep, his eyes hazy, his mind clinging to the last strands of a dream. The warm, hard pressure against his stomach didn't really register as his problem. Then, when Jaskier opened his eyes, he recognized the bulge for what it was: Geralt's massive morning erection.

Geralt wore his breeches to bed, this was true, but they left little to the imagination. Or his cock was simply so broad (like its owner) that no cloth could hope to contain it. In fact, the laces at the top were loosened some, giving Jaskier a glimpse.

Now, he hadn't seen many cocks—a handful or so, no where near as many as the lovely yonic openings he'd had the pleasure of entering—but surely, this one put every cock in the world to shame. A fat pink head hinted at the monster attached to it, and from what he saw, Jaskier didn't think he could get his lips around such a beast, let alone his—

“If you're going to stare, you might as well put yourself to use,” Geralt grumbled.

The shock of getting caught sent Jaskier jumping out of bed. Well, he tried to jump. With Geralt's strong arm still wrapped around him, it held him tight and he more... fell out of bed. But he was quick to his feet.

“I'm so sorry Geralt, didn't mean to wake you. I'm going to head down to the pub, see if I can get any coin for breakfast. Don't get up, I'll bring some food for you if I get anything. I think a lot of people actually prefer a song with their breakfast. They can really hear the words and the melody, much better than when they're drunk.” He jumped into his clothes as fast as possible and grabbed his lute, running out the door.

Geralt smirked to himself and dipped a hand down his breeches. “It's like he's never felt a cock before,” he groaned as his hand took care of the morning's business. After, he'd have a piss, get dressed, and see what trouble the bard managed to find with the inn's now hung over guests.

3.

The next time their coin was woefully low, Geralt didn't have to say it. “I know, I know, one bed.” Jaskier started singing for his supper while Geralt made his way up the stairs to his bath and their single bed. He didn't really _need_ the bath this time and part of Jaskier wanted to push for two, but Geralt didn't ask for much (short of silence, which Jaskier never really gave him). As long as they'd been traveling together, Jaskier noticed the Witcher didn't have much in the way of Earthly pleasures, just his horse, his potions, and his weapons. So he liked a hot bath now and again. Jaskier was a man of many Earthly pleasures, and if that was the only luxury the Witcher wanted, how could he begrudge him?

The patrons in this particular pub weren't very giving and Jaskier packed up his lute early in the night, only enough gold for a small cup of stew and some bread. The stew he ate, the bread he decided to give to Geralt.

When he got to their room, Geralt was still stewing in his hot water. He opened one content eye and nodded towards the last pitcher. “Warm it up for me.”

Jaskier set the bread on the table and did as asked. “I brought that for you, if you're hungry. I think our rations are low.”

Geralt grunted, probably from the heat of the bath than any sort of response.

Sleep pulled at Jaskier's eyes and he undressed, flopping down on the bed. The light of the candle didn't keep him up, and Geralt was still enjoying his bath. Quarter of an hour or so later, when sleep dragged at the edges of his mind, Jaskier heard the gentle rainfall of dripping water. His mind didn't fully awake until a strong hand lifted him out of the bed.

“Hey!” he tried to protest, eyes still mostly closed. “What, we share? It's not my fault I got there first.”

Geralt shook his head and laid down in the bed, then dragged Jaskier down onto his chest. “We won't fit any other way. Go to sleep.” Without another word, he snuffed out the candle.

Once again, Jaskier found himself with his ear pressed against Geralt's chest and an arm pinning him down, that strong, slow heart soothing him into sleep.

The next morning, a thick, hard nudge in the side woke Jaskier. His head foggy from sleep, it startled him at first, until he remembered.

Moving carefully slow, so as not to wake the sleeping Witcher, he reached down, the palm of his hand hovering over the great bulge. There was no brothel in this town, and Geralt didn't seem opposed... no, he couldn't, it would be too much, there was no way—

Suddenly, a large hand appeared and started unlacing Geralt's breeches. “Since you're not going to do anything with it.” The threat hung in the air. With Geralt's strong arm wrapped around him, and the other making short work of his own laces, Jaskier froze in place, his mouth falling open.

The ties pulled open, and a cock of magnificent size fell out. It was more than Jaskier had imagined, a beautiful beast with a wide slit, as thick as Jaskier's wrist. Hard as it was, the great weight held it down, almost flat to Geralt's belly. Without so much as a cursory tease, Geralt got right down to work, wrapping his large fist around and pumping the shaft, foreskin sliding forward and back to reveal a red cock head, already leaking.

Jaskier gasped, or, he thought he did. He was frozen in place, mesmerized by the sheer size of the organ in front of him. The vein—as thick as his little finger—pulsed and twitched as Geralt stroked faster and faster.

The arm around Jaskier tightened as Geralt's hips bucked up, spilling come across his stomach. Jaskier barely managed to twitch out of the way. He rolled off the bed, Geralt's grip a little looser now. He still couldn't take his eyes of that impressive cock.

But Geralt was done with his show. He sat up and wiped the come off his stomach, taking a moment to rinse in the one bowl of clean water left from his bath. He went over to the chamber pot in the corner and did the rest of his morning business.

The spell broke and Jaskier shook his head, clearing it further. He scrambled to get dressed and headed down into the pub.

4.

The next time, Jaskier had it clear in his mind what he wanted: that cock, in his hand, in his mouth, wherever it fit. He was determined, and when a bard was determined to find their way to someone's loins, there was precious little to stop them.

But the money in this pub was good and he continued to play as the coins continued to drop. He hoped Geralt hadn't fallen asleep, then he'd have to wait until morning. When the crowd began to die down, he finished one last verse of Toss A Coin, then made his bows. His purse lovely and full, he headed up to their room.

Geralt was already in bed, but he cracked an eye open when he heard the door. “Good. Get the candle when you lay down.”

“I thought I might keep you up a bit longer,” Jaskier said.

Geralt opened one eye again, looking him up and down. He didn't say anything, just watched Jaskier undress. He removed his underclothes this time as well, which was... new.

Without waiting for any signal, or sign of assent (not that Geralt would give one anyway, the man had all the social skills of a block of wood) Jaskier climbed onto the bed, straddling Geralt's thighs.

Geralt watched as Jaskier unlaced his breeches, not saying a word. Taking that for consent, Jaskier finished the job, bringing that big, beautiful cock out into the world.

Naked as he was, and perched across Geralt's lap, Jaskier's cock stood next to Geralt's like a man next to a giant. A tall man, to be sure, Jaskier was no slouch, but a man next to a giant would always be found wanting.

Licking his palms, he pressed their cocks together and wrapped both hands around them. He rolled his hips, thrusting into the first stroke and groaned. Geralt didn't make a noise, but closed his eyes and tilted his head back a bit... Jaskier could work with that.

He soon found a rhythm, thrusting in time with each down stroke, caressing their foreskin with each upstroke. It was surprisingly hard work. Jaskier never needed two hands for his own pleasure, but Geralt's size demanded it.

After a minute of grunting (Jaskier) and tugging (also Jaskier) he saw Geralt open his eyes, only to sigh and shake his head. “If it's too big for you.” Again, the threat hung in the air.

Fearing he was about to get thrown off, Jaskier tightened his legs around Geralt. Instead, Geralt wrapped his hand around the whole tangle as well, putting more pressure on them both.

Jaskier gasped at the sudden, intense grip, squeezing them both. Was this how the Witcher handled himself? No wonder Jaskier's efforts weren't going far. He tried gripping harder and Geralt gave a small grunt. Now they were getting somewhere. Licking his palms again, he squeezed as hard as he could and started stroking fast, like he'd seen Geralt tend to himself before. With a twitch of his hips and a small nod, Geralt started to get into the rhythm Jaskier built. His hands were surprisingly strong for all his playing and it wasn't too much of a strain to hold the correct pressure, though after only a moment, heat started to pool at the base of Jaskier's spine, burning through his sack... this might be over for him before Geralt.

The dull ache in his thighs from holding the position distracted him long enough to redouble his efforts. Geralt's hand let go of their cocks and both settled on Jaskier's hips, holding tight as he threw his head back and moaned. As soon as he saw the first spurt of come from Geralt, Jaskier let himself go. He squeezed his eyes shut until he saw snow, moaning as his cock spilled all over the Witcher. He imagined it was quite a sight, come fountaining over the belly of the monster hunter, knowing he'd slain the slayer... for a moment, at least. He'd have to remember to watch next time.

When Jaskier opened his eyes, his mouth fell open in shock. A veritable pool of sticky leavings covered Geralt's belly, filling his navel, with a few drops inching up his chest.

“Don't flatter yourself, most of it's mine,” Geralt said, staring at Jaskier with those beautiful, yet cold eyes. “Are you going to clean this up?”

“Uh, yes, I can...” Jaskier tried to step off the bed, but found his legs too wobbly. He fell onto the floor with a thunk.

Geralt shook his head and sat up. “Never mind.”

Using a bit of the water from the bath, Geralt first cleaned himself, then threw a wet cloth at Jaskier. “Now, I'm going to sleep.” He settled down in the bed and closed his eyes. “Put the light out.”

5.

As their friendship went on (Jaskier called it friendship, Geralt called it annoying) they spent many nights sharing one bed. It was a good while before Jaskier felt confident enough to... accommodate Geralt's great size, but when he did, it was bliss. The moment he sunk down, Geralt held tight in a way he never had before. He never said anything, but Jaskier saw it in his eyes, he was more alert now, not just a passive body to sit on while Jaskier wanked them both off. He was interested. At the very least, he was interested.

The fun of it aside, they saved loads on brothels and could afford a bath almost every where they stopped.

6.

“Toss a coin to your Witcher, a friend of humanity!”

With a final flourish, Jaskier finished the song and took a bow. A thin smattering of applause met his ears, but the coins dropped in front of him made a louder sound still, and a more pleasing one at that.

“Thank you, thank you! I'll be here tomorrow as well!”

Jaskier gathered up his coin and his lute and headed towards the stairs, only to find his way blocked as a man stepped into his path. The short-ish, balding man smirked at Jaskier, his armor had definitely seen better days. (Dingy from age, it appeared, not battle, like Geralt's.) “It's a shame that beautiful voice of yours has to spin tales of that mutant, not a real man. I'm Arkon of White Bridge. I could tell you a few tales.”

Jaskier couldn't help his sneer. “Arkon of White Bridge? Never heard of you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm quite tired after my performance.”

He side stepped to get around and the man stepped with him. “Why don't you ride with me? We're headed out in the morning, seems there's a monster haunting a lake up north. It'll make for a grand song.”

“Oh, you mean the drowned dead in Lake Vizima? We just got back, Geralt cleans it out every few years, so I doubt you'll have much to do.”

Again, Jaskier tried to move, only to be blocked once again. “We could have a good time together. Been a long time since I've had a bard with me,” his eyes passed over Jaskier, lingering a little too long below his waist, “might know a few old tricks that Witcher pup doesn't.”

Before Jaskier had time to reply with a devastating remark, a familiar brooding shape came down the stairs. Cat-like eyes immediately focused on Jaskier, sizing up the man impeding him.

“Why are you talking to my bard?” he grumbled. Jaskier knew well enough to hear no threat in Geralt's words—this man wasn't worth it—but the deep, masculine rumble was enough to intimidate the bravest of men, who Arkon of White Bridge was not.

He looked the Witcher up and down and puffed out his chest. “I'm giving him a better offer. He doesn't need to stay with a mutant.”

Geralt was never threatened by men like this and he merely shrugged. “Jaskier is free to go whenever he likes. I must warn you, you'll probably find him a bit roomy inside.”

Arkon stepped back and looked at Jaskier, his face suddenly pale. “I can tell you,” Jaskier said, “I am quite happy with my current travel arrangements. No adventurer could give me a better song than Geralt. If you'll excuse me.”

This time, the man didn't stop him and Jaskier stomped towards the stairs. Geralt smirked at the man and shrugged, “Like I said: my bard,” before following Jaskier up to their room.

Jaskier barely set his things down when two large hands started pulling at his clothes. By now, Geralt knew not to rip and tear. Jaskier's performance clothes were fine and expensive, difficult to replace. However, he didn't mind re-lacing a seam now and then...

“You could leave some ambiguity about our relationship,” Jaskier half protested, his clothes already strewn across the floor.

“You're a bard. I thought the assumption always was you were letting me fuck you.” Bending Jaskier over the bed and kicking his feet wide, one of Geralt's oiled fingers pushed its way inside.

Jaskier moaned at the contact, Geralt's other fingers stroking his perineum, making a slow tease of it. “Yes, but for the sake of my reputation, I can't let people think I'm _only_ fucking you.”

Geralt's fingers stopped their movements and retreated, a stubbly cheek brushing against Jaskier's. “Should I take my cock down to the brothel? Will that help your reputation?” he whispered.

The heat of the Witcher's body so close to his was impossible to resist, and the thought of it vanishing was almost unbearable. Jaskier reached back and held tight to Geralt's hips, pulling them flush together and guiding that magnificent cock into the cleft of his ass. “Don't you dare,” he whispered.

Geralt adjusted a bit only to thrust two slick fingers into Jaskier's hole. “Giving orders now?”

The playful banter stopped there and Geralt got down to the business of fucking a new song into Jaskier.

“O Geralt of Rivia, his talents are varied and wide; he'll kill monsters by the score, and then once more, and lastly he'll give you a ride!” These were hardly Jaskier's best verses. The bard didn't know how to shut up, so he sang until he moaned. Geralt tried his best to make the moaning start quickly.

However, if one of these lines ever ended up in a real song, there'd be hell to pay. Geralt didn't mind expanding his legend as a monster hunter, his reputation as a lover... he preferred that to speak on its own.

While Geralt wanted nothing more than to draw it out a little and make Jaskier beg, the willing ass under him was too good to resist. Slicking his cock, he pushed in and Jaskier's terrible song dissolved into moans.

The fat head of Geralt's cock pushed past his rim, making Jaskier's toes curl. “Ohhh, yessss,” he hissed. “Fuck, more, more.”

“As you wish.”

Thrusting quickly, Geralt burred himself to the hilt. A few months ago, he never thought he'd fit inside Jaskier's tight little body, yet here they were, the skinny bard begging for more of his cock, and taking all he was given.

Hands holding tight to Jaskier's hips, he thrust firmly, making the bed jump an inch or two across the floor. Jaskier moaned louder, working a hand between himself and the mattress to take care of his own erection.

Sweat poured off them. Geralt had just finished his bath and at this rate, he'd need another. Oh, but the smell coming off Jaskier was intoxicating. Geralt pressed his nose into the nape of his neck, inhaling deeply, and licking the salty skin.

Jaskier seemed to be made of nothing but moans and groans at this point, but Geralt heard the sharp change in pitch as he came across the sheets. A few more thrusts and Geralt spilled inside Jaskier's ass. Now they both needed a bath.

Limp like a rag doll, Jaskier collapsed onto the bed and barely moved. Geralt rolled his eyes. “Come on.” He lifted Jaskier and dumped him in the tub, the cooling water shocked him back to attention. Geralt chuckled at Jaskier's outrage. “I'm not letting you sleep on my chest while my own come drips down my side. Wash up and we'll sleep.”

Glaring up from the cold tub, Jaskier did as asked. “You better keep me warm tonight,” he mumbled.

Geralt smirked. “Don't I always?”

7.

The wind blew and swirled around them, sending Jaskier's teeth chattering.

Geralt shook his head and guided them off the road. “We have to stop. Roach can't hold out much longer.”

“Neither can I,” Jaskier mumbled under his breath. “But you seem to care about her well being more than you care for mine.” Between the rushing wind and the gathering storm, Geralt had no hope of hearing his protests, but it made Jaskier feel better to—

“She does more work than you. Come on,” Geralt called over his shoulder.

While he desperately wanted to make it to an inn, Jaskier knew he couldn't make it far without the Witcher to guide him. And, truth be told, he was close to giving out as well. At first, the winter air wasn't too bad, then, the wind picked up and plunged them deep into the freezing bosom of Lady Winter.

Jaskier followed Geralt off the road and into the trees. Well, he followed Roach, who followed Geralt. Between the black cloak and the white hair, Geralt was near invisible on a winter's night.

Just as he thought they'd never find shelter from the wind, Geralt steered them into a group of trees. The wind suddenly lessened and the biting cold receded somewhat, making the night almost tolerable.

“Here,” Geralt thrust Roach's reins into Jaskier's hands. “Tie her off, I'll make a fire.”

Soon enough, they had a small camp going. Protected by the trees, Jaskier finally stopped shivering. But as soon as he eyed the forest floor, he realized sleep would be impossible. Even with a bedroll and a fire, too long sleeping on a pile of snow would freeze him to death.

Geralt, who had settled himself against a tree, opened his cloak. “Come on. You sleep, I'll tend the fire.”

He didn't need to be told twice. Jaskier scrambled into Geralt's arms, the large cloak falling closed behind him, containing him near the bonfire that was Geralt's body.

Geralt had managed to save his current winter cloak from any recent monster fights, and the extra layer did wonders. After a few moments with his body pressed to Geralt's broad chest, Jaskier was already warmer than he ever remembered being.

“Are you sure you're not tired?” he asked, his voice muffled by the cloak. “We can take it in shifts.”

While he couldn't see Geralt's face, he imagined the Witcher rolling his eyes at the idea. “I'm fine. Just promise you'll let me rest tomorrow before climbing on my cock.”

“Promise.”

With the utmost confidence that Geralt was fine for the night, Jaskier closed his eyes and soon drifted off. Between the muted whoosh of the wind, the warmth of Geralt's body, and the slow beat of his heart, sleep came instantly.

By dawn, the storm had died down, and they came across an inn by midday. Jaskier plied his trade with the lunch crowd and Geralt retreated to their room.

Sure enough, Jaskier kept to his promise, only climbing on to Geralt's cock the moment he woke.

8.

“Is 'babbling brook' an overused phrase?” Jaskier called to Geralt, who was bathing in the river. No inn for days, and the spring was warm enough not to risk hypothermia, so into the water Geralt went. And Jaskier waited for him, using the down time to try and compose a new song.

The Witcher dunked his head in the water, shaking himself like a dog when he emerged. “Why are you asking me?” he shouted back and dunked again.

“Because it's a song about you!” Jaskier yelled, a little annoyed now. “I thought you might care what I say about you. How do you feel about babbling brooks? As a phrase.”

Geralt said nothing. He splashed water across his chest one more time before turning and heading to shore. As he got closer, Jaskier's heart beat faster. Step by step, more of Geralt's glorious, naked body came into view. Yes, the chill of the river didn't do his size any favors, but Geralt's cock was a work of art no matter its current state. Jaskier didn't mind a bit of a curve, or an odd shape, but somehow, Geralt's cock was perfect in every way: perfect shape, perfect plump head, beautiful dusky color, and—he could not stress this enough—the most well-proportioned sac he'd ever laid his eyes on. Part of him wanted to write a song about it, An Ode to the Witcher's Loins, but he knew Geralt would kill him for it. He'd have to be content just to look at it.

When Geralt bent over to grab his clothes from the bank, the gleaming beads of water on his perfect ass made Jaskier want to cry. “You are a beautiful man.” The words were out of his mouth before his brain thought them.

Geralt arched an eyebrow, then looked down at his cock. He shook his head and came to a stop in front of Jaskier. One hand supporting the base of his now half-hard cock, he held it towards Jaskier's lips. “Be my guest.”

“Oh, I will.” He abandoned his writing and opened his mouth.

Jaskier had come to accept the fact that he'd never be able to get all of Geralt's cock into his mouth, not even half. Only the head really fit, and it was enough to keep him happy. He swirled his tongue around the crown, one hand lightly stroking, and hummed a little to himself.

The song continued on in his head. Was rushing river better than babbling brook?

9.

While Geralt told Jaskier to stay out of his way in every fight, there were a rare few where the order came from a place of protection rather than annoyance. “Stay here, I'll be back,” were the last words Geralt said to him before heading out.

That was seven days ago.

Jaskier knew better than anyone: the Witcher could handle himself. But Jaskier also knew when to worry, and he started worrying two days ago.

He sat in the pub every night, strumming his lute and singing Geralt's praises while the pang of worry in his chest slowly split open, turning into a great chasm of fear and grief. What if Geralt didn't make it back this time? He always said, the only death for a Witcher came at the claw of some monster, only time and luck delayed it.

By late evening on the seventh night, Jaskier began to wonder how much longer he could afford the inn. What if he had to move on and Geralt came back the next night? Would Geralt think he gave up on him?

The front door crashed open with such force, Jaskier's voice cracked mid-song. Geralt, in all the glory of his black armor, strode in, looking a little bloody, but no worse for the wear. Eyes like fire found him and nodded towards the stairs. Jaskier couldn't get up fast enough.

“Ladies and gentlemen, you've been lovely this evening, thank you!” Jaskier ran to follow Geralt, only to find the innkeeper trying to hold him up.

“Seven nights, Witcher. You only paid me for five. Now your bard has a tab of—”

A money bag filled with gold hit the innkeeper's chest with a jingly thud. “That will cover it,” he growled. “And I expect a bath in two hours.”

The innkeeper nodded and ran back to the bar to count his money, leaving them be. Geralt continued up to their room, Jaskier right behind him.

The door closed and Geralt pounced, pinning Jaskier to the old wood with his body, one hand pulling at his doublet, the other ripping at the laces of his breeches. Hot breath and sharp teeth scraped his neck, sucking the salty skin he found there, making Jaskier moan.

His worry and fear evaporated the second he saw Geralt. Jaskier was now free to let his cock do the thinking. After previous long absences, their reunion had been so passionate, Jaskier couldn't walk straight for two days, and he looked forward to similar results.

Tangling his hands in Geralt's hair, he let the man do as he pleased. “Is the white wolf hungry?” he whispered in Geralt's ear.

Geralt's hands stilled and he pulled back, staring deep into Jaskier's eyes. “Yes,” he hissed.

Jaskier now free from his clothes, Geralt lifted him off the ground, attacking his neck again, biting and sucking bruises into his skin before dropping him on the bed. Leaning back, Jaskier had an unobstructed view of Geralt as he peeled himself out of his armor. With each layer that came off, Jaskier saw more and more of the body he missed so much this past week.

A few new cuts—already healing—and shadows of bruises made his cock twitch. Some said Witchers were barely more than animals, and Jaskier disagreed, but it was definitely the animal inside of him who loved to see the scars and marks of the Witcher's trade. Geralt was a hard man, made soft and pliant by Jaskier's hands, mouth and ass, he was the beauty who could slay the beast.

Well, except tonight. Tonight, he wanted the beast to bite and scratch and mark him. Tonight, only the white wolf would satisfy.

Geralt's cock twitched with every beat of his heart, his body absolutely throbbing to be inside Jaskier. He spent his last rational thought grabbing the bottle of oil by the bed and dripping it over his cock. With Jaskier's legs spread wanton and wide, he spread a bit over his hole as well, but that was all his mind could focus on.

One hand behind the head of his cock, he thrust forward, spearing Jaskier. But this was a pleasant death and Jaskier moaned (probably a little too loud) but Geralt's coin should keep the innkeeper appeased. He over paid for a reason.

Wrapping his arms around Jaskier, he snapped his hips forwards and back, giving quick but deep thrusts. After a few almost knocked him off the bed, Jaskier coiled his arms and legs around Geralt, holding them fast as he had the fucking of his life.

Pressed together as they were, Jaskier's cock was pinned between them, providing more than enough stimulation and leaving his arms free to hold on. After the last week, he'd hold on as long as Geralt allowed.

Geralt set upon Jaskier again, biting red bruises all along his neck, shoulders and collarbone. While Jaskier would normally boast about 'giving as good as he got,' when Geralt got like this, the most Jaskier could do to give some back was to leave little half-moon nail marks on his back. With hands gripping his hips and teeth marking his neck, Jaskier gave himself over to Geralt's lust. Tomorrow, Geralt's bruises will have faded while Jaskier's shined bright in the sunlight. Part of him didn't mind.

Geralt knew he was bordering on too rough, which Jaskier loved at first, but he'd learned how long the bard could take it and slowed down, thrusting just as deep, but finally luxuriating in it, enjoying Jaskier's body under him.

“Oh, fuck!” Jaskier growled out and curled forward, his cock twitching and pulsing between their bellies. A few more thrusts and Geralt spilled, filling Jaskier. He bit down on the bard's shoulder to stifle his moans a bit, leaving the deepest mark so far.

Spent and sticky, Geralt rolled onto the other side of the bed, and they both laid there, trying to regain their breath. “Glad you missed me,” Jaskier said after a few silent minutes.

When the bath arrived, Geralt let Jaskier clean up first before dipping in himself. Jaskier sat by the side of the bath combing the tangles out of his hair. While he did manage to rinse off in a river after his hunt, Geralt usually neglected his hair, which Jaskier always chastised him for.

He was about to drift off, Jaskier's quiet humming and soft attentions lulling him to sleep...

Wait. Humming. Jaskier hummed when he composed.

Not opening his eyes, Geralt grunted, “This better not end up in a song.”

10.

“When the White Wolf hungers, monsters of all size beware!” Jaskier sang at the top of his lungs. The bar was filled with shouting and celebration, Geralt had just freed the town from a beast set upon them twenty years ago, and while they were happy to have Jaskier's songs, the need to shout their relief was too great.

Geralt, however, was not happy for Jaskier's song.

“He'll bite, and he'll slash, stab you to death, until monster blood slakes his lust!” Jaskier started a new verse and Geralt groaned. “For so cried the White Wolf Witcher, his hunger shall never end; he saved this fair town, and when the 'morrow comes round, he'll set on the hunt again!

“When the White Wolf hungers, beware I say, beware; for no fang nor claw can take him down—” Jaskier stopped next to Geralt's corner table, lowering his voice, “—save this bard's sweet affair.”

Geralt clenched his teeth. “You're dead,” he whispered.

Jaskier lifted his chin, exposing the last of the bite marks Geralt spread across him a fortnight ago. “I'm looking forward to it.”

Jaskier pranced back to the crowd and stared a new song. Geralt shook his head and tried to hide his smirk. He finished his drink and headed up to the room, knowing Jaskier wouldn't be far behind.

The End

**Author's Note:**

> The idea of Geralt losing a lot of clothes from monster fighting is a nod to the show. They had to replace Henry Cavill's armor so much because his giant muscles kept breaking the costume.
> 
> Also, I'm a bad bard. Jaskier's actual songs are probably much, much better than mine, but I liked the idea of Jaskier writing really corny ballads during sex.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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